


Move Me, Shake Me

by riseuplikeangels



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Like, Smut, bulges and all, ha ha ha silly lesbians, hardcore smut, have fun, no ok this is definitely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:03:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseuplikeangels/pseuds/riseuplikeangels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kanaya Maryam has never felt the part of a sex-crazed teenager before, but with a tease like Rose as a matesprit, she can't help but slip into the role, and the vivid dreams that become a part of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Move Me, Shake Me

**Author's Note:**

> Lesbians and bulges and first-timers. This is your last warning. Enjoy!

Waking up from a dream where your tongue is between Rose Lalonde's legs is a heavy affair. Heavy physically, with the hot, electric want thudding at your gut, a blush beginning on your cheeks. Heavy on the mind, for oh, _God_ , you just can't get those guilty images out of your mind--Rose, her teeth clenched between smeary-black lips, eyes fluttering shut as she looses a high, keening moan of pure want. Rose, her hands grasping, scrabbling for a grip on your hair as you taste her, bury your tongue inside her like in the videos in a folder hidden away on her hard drive--naughty Rose, almost maddening when you imagine darkened violet eyes viewing those same videos, a hand pulling at the waistband of underwear of your own design, which you sometimes see scattered on her messy floor.

Your name is Kanaya Maryam, and you have never really felt the part of the typical hormonally imbalanced teenager, but having a matesprit as gorgeous as yours, you think you know what everyone else gets so obsessed with.

Rose, by all accounts, is maturing nearly daily into an absolutely irresistible young woman, with her thick-lashed eyes and light, lithe body. You are only lucky you have her, for if you didn't she would be snatched up in a matter of minutes. The thought worries you sometimes, but then she turns up at your respiteblock in the morning, wearing a dress you sewed for her, kisses you on the mouth when you're least expecting it, tells you to nip at her neck and lick up the drops of blood if she thinks you look thirsty. And she never covers up the marks.

The two of you have been together for two months now, and you know that her back arches when you press at a certain place on her back, rake your nails over it. You know that kissing her pulse point, on the underside of her jaw, makes her tense and hum, a high, breathy sound you think you could get addicted to quite quickly. You even know that her breasts, swelling to fill out the modest lingerie she had blushingly asked you to make for her, are firm and sensitive--even brushing them through her shirt makes her breath hitch. But you do not know her, not completely--you do not know how the apex between her thighs tastes, you do not know how she would react if you ran your hand up the inside of one of those thighs (pale and marble and delicious under skirts of your own design). You want to know, though. You are too polite to say so, but you would honestly like nothing more than to make love to Rose, explore the parts of her body you haven't yet seen.

But you're too goddamned polite to say so, and you find yourself slipping a hand between your legs far too often to be considered normal.

It's a day like any other, after you recover from your vivid dreams--get up, dress, otherwise prepare yourself for the day, taking your time. Eat something while attempting to locate your other shoe. Open your husktop, log onto Trollian, ask Rose if she's ready for you to come over. She rises early, and you never have to wait more than ten seconds for a positive response. So you go to her block, kiss her hello, linger in the doorway for a few moments over each other's lips, and eventually retreat back into her room. Sometimes the two of you venture out, socialize or what have you, but today you both opt for curling up in the same oversized armchair, reading from the same novel. She holds the book on upturned knees, and you hold her with one arm around her waist as she leans comfortably against you. Occasionally one of you will read a paragraph out loud, ones that you particularly enjoy.

It's at the end of a chapter that she closes the book with no warning, setting it aside and cuddling closer to you. You smile and hold her in both your arms. "Bored of reading?" you ask, and she nods against your shoulder. You stay there like that until she raises her head.

"Kiss me," she murmurs, almost sighing out the words as she leans closer to you, and who are you to deny her? You kiss her most sweetly, holding her close, tasting the uniqueness of her lips--and you are happy, so happy, even more so when she traces over your bottom lip with her tongue. And then it's turning into _that_ kind of kissing, the kind that makes your spine tingle and your stomach flip, the kind where she's shifting to straddle you and push you back against the chair, crushing your mouths together and sliding her hands from your shoulders to your breasts. _That_ kind of kissing, the kind that makes you want her so badly you can barely move.

Her breath catches with her tongue wrapped around the back of your left fang, and she pulls back, blushing slightly. "I apologize," she says, smoothly. "It seems that I'm a bit high-strung today."

You take a deep breath and look up at her. "I assure you that I do not mind in the slightest," you tell her, and she giggles, leaning down to kiss you less hungrily. Chaster.

Still with her legs draped on either side of your hips, she nuzzles her head into the crook of your neck. "I love you," she murmurs, and you repeat the sentiment as you begin to rub small circles onto the skin of her back with the pads of your fingers, making her hum a little in pleasure. A brief silence, and then... "I want you."

You feel your cheeks heat up in a blush, your stomach flip more than ever and your hands pause at her back. "Rose..." you start, unsure if you've heard right, or if she knows where your mind is, what she's said.

She lifts her head, enough to look into your eyes, and you can see she's blushing too. "I do, and I'm not sorry for it. You're gorgeous, beautiful, radiant...not to mention that you possess a nigh-on _abnormal_ level of sex appeal. And I get to kiss you as much as I like. And I want you." Seemingly worried of the repercussions of her words, she continues: "Not that I plan on asking you to do anything you don't want to, clearly, but I just...thought I should let you know."

"But I do want to." The words spill out of your mouth before you can even think about them, and Rose's eyebrow raises archly. "I do," you murmur, feeling your blush deepen. "I want to know all of you."

"Yes!" Rose says, loud and excited enough to make you jump. "Yes. As ever, you articulate perfectly how I feel. All of you. I want to know every inch of you."

"You do?" Your voice sounds surprised.

"Yes, Christ, yes." She dips down to kiss you on the cheek. "It is maddening to me that I have not seen every millimeter of your skin. After all," she sniffs, "you are my girlfriend. Matesprit. Whatever. I'm allowed to want you."

"You can," you say, with your heart beating fast.

Rose tilts her head. "Can what?"

You blush, if possible, even harder. "See. Whatever you like. If you...if you want. So long as...I get to do the same?"

She's silent for a moment, just looking at you, and then a mysterious little smile spreads across her face. "How gracious of you," she says, and then she's kissing you with a fire you've never felt from her before, tangling your tongues together and tracing along your jaw, caressing your breasts...and you're not passive, you're kissing her back, you hands running down from her shoulders to her rear, which you hold gently but firmly with both hands as she begins to move against you, the curve of her spine undulating as she does so, and oh, God, there it is, that searing stab of want that slices right through you, wrenches a moan from your lips, and Rose draws back.

"What is it?" you ask her, breathlessly, and she shakes her head, staring down at you with her headband awry, her hair so lovelily tousled. "I think that was most likely the most arousing sound I have ever heard in my life," she says, her words almost a gasp, and seconds later you're glued to her at the lips again, feeling up the backs of her thighs, the place where they dip in, as she's focusing on your front, your breasts, your stomach and hips, gasping and making these little whimpering sounds that make you want all her clothes off, right this very second. Her breath is hot on your mouth, and you, unable to wait any longer, begin to tug at the hem of her shirt, bringing it up ever so slightly.

"Oh," she says, out of breath, and sits up long enough to take off her shirt, helping you with yours soon after. You recognize her undergarments at once; the very last ones you had sewn for her, after becoming her matesprit, black with just the tiniest touches of tasteful purple lace. It had been nearly impossible for you to keep your mind on the fabric instead of the idea of Rose in the fabric whilst making them. But you managed all the same, and the skin of her back and stomach and hips is just as darling as the rest of her, smooth and pale, and the undergarment perfectly cups her breasts, and you realize that you have paused in your attentions to her back and thighs to stare, and that she is staring right back, her eyes roving over your bare shoulders, your stomach, lingering on your breasts, which makes you blush.

"You are simply _sublime_ ," she tells you, her eyes still on your chest but flicking up to meet your eyes, and before she can make another move you're lifting yourself off the chair, kissing from her jaw, down her neck, to her clavicle (biting down just the slightest bit there), and finally to her breasts, encased in the fabric that you pull aside to lay a kiss and then a tiny nip at the raised, darkened center. She makes a high chuffing-whistling sound. "K-Kanaya," she stutters over your name. "H...how on Earth do you know to do that? Is the same true of trolls?"

You tug with your teeth just a tad more before pulling back, giving her a little half-smile. "I borrow your laptop sometimes," you tell her, and her face goes from confusion to understanding to righteous embarrassment in five seconds flat.

" _Oh,_ " she says again, seeming to mull over the idea. "That...is an image I do not mind having."

You laugh, and she laughs too, and then you go back to your ministrations to her breasts, fumbling with the clasp that you sewed on, for God's sake, before finally getting it off her once and for all. Somehow, through it all, you wrap an arm around her back and flip her over so you're on top, supporting your greater weight on your knees. The better to tease her, fondle her chest and lay kisses everywhere from her shoulder to her stomach. The better to induce more and more of those intoxicating little noises she makes; quiet and gaspy, her eyes fluttering closed, then open, then closed again.

Yet for all her seeming pleasure at your movements, beautiful, lovely, perfect Rose has the presence of mind to undo your own undergarments with deft, searching fingers, no fumbling. She drops the item to the floor unceremoniously, and you can't say you mind as you feel the delicious rub of bare skin against the same, achieved when you move up to kiss her lips, feeling her legs move and come up to latch around your hips, locking you together in an intimate position.

Neither of you have thought to move from the chair. At this point, you don't think you could make it to the bed.

The foreplay is more than enough for you to unsheathe; when Rose feels your bulge against her, she pauses in your fire-kisses and all of a sudden you are very concerned. Will she dislike your bulge? Will it repulse her?

"You look worried," is what she murmurs when she finally speaks, only a few inches away from your lips.

"I am worried," you say, and she giggles, just a tiny bit, her headband finally sliding to the floor with a small noise. "Don't be," she tells you, looking straight in your eyes. You must not look convinced, because she continues, her voice that hint-filled tone that you adore. "You've done your research, I've done mine," she says, quirking one eyebrow, and when you realize what she means you lower yourself back to her lips to continue devouring her, feeling her body tight against yours, and the two of you are moving against each other, still clothed from the waist down but thrusting gently all the same, and her pelvis moving against yours is maddening.

"Kanaya," Rose gasps after some minutes of this gorgeous type of contact, foreplay stealing her breath and her usual long-windedness, something that you cannot help but feel a little proud for in the back of your mind.

"Yes?" you ask her, your mouth against her jaw, which you have been nipping at gently.

"I hate to sound too demanding, but..." She bites her lip. "I think I shall catch on fire if I don't remove this skirt soon."

Your gorgeous matesprit catching on fire, even if it is from arousal, isn't really what you had in mind for this encounter, so you reluctantly pull back from her, enough to help her out of the lavender skirt, one of the ones you made her. However much you would like to tear it from her in a frenzy of passion, you are integrally concerned for the plight of your fabric, and so you are careful. A quiet scent begins to fill the air around the both of you, and you realize after a moment that it is of sex, and the idea alone has you running your hand from her stomach down between her legs, cupping her through the thin fabric that still remains there, tight against her hot flesh. The soft touch alone has her breath catching, your name spilling from her lips, and so finally you pull the damn thing off to look at Rose, every inch of Rose, for the first time.

She is not entirely how you expected her; in those videos that have been your only reference point, women plucked, devoid of hair anywhere besides their heads, pleasured each other with moans you knew were fake, even with your admittedly nonexistent knowledge of human mating rituals. Not knowing anything else to expect, you are slightly surprised to see a soft triangle of hair, thin and a slightly darker blonde than the hair you often run your fingers through. Surprised, yes, but not displeased; the rest of her looks as you thought she would, glistening just the slightest bit. The heat radiating from her center is impressive; you now know, possibly, what she means when she speaks of catching fire.

You realize after too long a time that you are staring, and Rose is looking worried, as though she's afraid you don't like what you see. "You're beautiful," you tell her, and see a light blush crop up on her cheeks. "Every inch of you. Every millimeter."

Her blush deepens, and she, naked and exposed, tugs at the hem of your skirt. "All right, you've unmasked the show, now let's see what you've got."

It takes some maneuvering in your position to do as she asks; she has to move from under you, curling up in the corner of the chair with her little finger between her teeth and her eyes almost hungry, watching you slip off first your skirt, then your underwear, revealing your bulge, fully unsheathed. She looks at it unashamedly, the ravenous expression never diminishing, to your relief.

"You know, my friends always said they thought I would end up into kinky sex," Rose muses, her eyes still between your legs, but then they travel up to your face as she shrugs. "I guess they were right."

And then the two of you are on each other again, you on top again, Rose wrapping her legs around you again, back to your rhythm, made more delicious by the fact you can feel yourself against her, not inside her but teasing, your bulge making motions around her center that make her shudder most deliciously. You disengage her legs to move down and perform that personal, guilty fantasy of yours; burying your tongue in her folds, tasting the tang of her sex. It's an odd flavor at first, but you grow to enjoy it quickly, and just by moving your tongue inside her you have her whimpering, her finger jammed in her mouth to stifle any louder noises. She's hot, slick inside, and the burning in your own stomach is becoming unbearable, but at the same time you don't want to take your mouth from her center, don't want her to stop tugging at the base of your horns in an effort to pull you closer.

It's her, eventually, that stops you, her eyes wild and her breath erratic. "Don't you make me come that easily," she gasps out, sucking in air as though trying to control herself. Which, you realize, is exactly what she's doing. "Haven't even...felt you yet. Completely unfair."

And with that, she sits up and shifts over so she's between your legs, gently spreading them apart by placing clammy hands on the insides of your knees. You oblige her, leaning back against the arm of the chair, more aroused than you have ever been in your life from any dream, any fantasy, and when she finally, finally touches you, you feel the heaviest sense of relief. Her hands feel good, perfect, right, experimenting with the appendage, unfamiliar to her. But she is bold, and her boldness manifests in your quiet, high-pitched moans, your bulge twisting itself around her hand in an effort to continue the glorious friction, contact.

It's you, eventually, that stops her, because if you can make her climax with your mouth she can certainly make you do it with her hand, and you feel it inside, gathering. Before you can fall off the point of no return, though, you disengage her hand and look at her. "Don't you make me come that easily," you mimic her, and she laughs.

"Will it...?" She trails off, looking from your eyes to your bulge. "I have to wonder if it's possible..." And she gestures down at herself, and you realize all at once what she means.

"I don't know," you say, biting your lip. "I don't want to hurt you."

"I don't want to hurt me either, but Christ, Kanaya." She shakes her head. "If you are not inside me, one way or the other, in a timely manner I may simply go insane."

Her words cause another lurching throb in your desire. "You tell me if it hurts," you tell her sternly, "and I'll stop."

"I will inform you if I want you to stop," she says, sincerity in her darkened gaze, and gently tugs you back on top of her, aligning you with her entrance, her hand to guide you gently inside her.

She's hot, burningly so, and tight; it's difficult sliding yourself even the first few inches, and when you do she gasps and claws at your shoulder. Not a good gasp, either; a pain-gasp.

"Sorry!" you say immediately, making motions to pull out of her, but she shakes her head and clamps her hands over your back, keeping you in place.

"Not that kind of pain," she grimaces, kissing you to reassure you, since you're still sort of freaking out. "Just human pain. Virgin pain. Knew it might happen."

You're still wondering if you should be doing something besides staring down at her, almost halfway inside of her but not moving any further. "Go ahead," Rose encourages you. "I'm okay. It'll pass, and after that we won't have any problems." So you reluctantly continue, sliding carefully further inside her, feeling her muscles tight around your bulge, almost squeezing it. It's terribly fantastic, but her lips are still pursed in discomfort, and so you are perpetually worried you are doing all the wrong things.

You stay like that, fully inside her but still as a statue, until finally you feel her relax with a little sigh. "Feels better," she says, opening her eyes and smiling at you. "Soon it'll be a thing of the past." And, gently, she starts those same rolling motions with her hips, the slick flesh of her insides sliding against you, and you almost choke at how good it feels.

"Move, Kanaya," she whispers to you, her breath warm against your neck, and you begin to do so, thrusting into her gently. She hums with a pleasure that you feel just as strongly, and you hum in response, feeling your bulge twitch inside her and drag its tip against her inner wall, moving in the limited space. That makes her eyes flutter and a moan drag itself from her lips, moving faster against you, and you match her speed.

It isn't easy to make Rose come this way, you find out soon enough; while licking and teasing her center, the little nub of flesh that was so sensitive...while doing that, you brought her up to the edge almost effortlessly. But this, while it makes her sigh and whine and generally express intense pleasure, there's no tightening of her muscles, no increase in pitch of her noises.

"Am I doing something wrong?" you ask her, tentatively, still moving into her with the rhythm the two of you have established.

"N...oh, God, ah...No, of course not, I just...hnngh..." She composes herself, with apparent difficulty, as your bulge is stroking over her inside with greater strength. "It can be d-difficult for human females to...ah...come just like this, but _(oh, fuck)_ you're doing...perfectly." She arches her back against you, pushing you into her up to your limit, another profanity falling from her lips. "Just...don't you dare stop. Go faster."

You do as she asks, pushing her into the soft cushion of the chair that the two of you were simply reading in, not a whole lot of time previously. Her hair is a mess, tousled and frizzy in the back where it's been rubbing constantly against fabric. Your bulge searches inside her, and you feel as though you cannot hold off your climax much longer; the way she slides around you is enough to toss you bodily up to the point of oblivion.

She changes position after a while, sitting up and then turning you over so you're under her, never leaving from inside her. "I'm close," she says, between clenched teeth, and puts her elbows on either side of your shoulders.

And then she's riding you, the motion almost frantic as her breaths turn to that erratic cadence, high, breathy little noises bursting out of her with each thrust. You hold her hips, pulling her forward while lifting your hips, trying to grant her that which she's striving for, the pleasure of release, the little death so often written about.

You, for your part, are just trying not to come until she does, though you can feel it, hot and that same swirling heaviness in your gut. Hold off, you tell yourself, just a bit longer. Rose is soaking; you can feel the same fluid that you tasted so eagerly begin to anoint your own skin. Surely she must be almost th--

And then you feel her contract violently around you, a low, drawn-out moan spilling from her lips as she stiffens, her eyes closing tightly. The way her skin tightens around your bulge finally does it for you; as she's still in the throes of her own base ecstasy, so similarly are you, feeling your genetic material spill into her. An absolute mess, one that leaves you trembling and gasping as Rose is gently riding out her aftershocks, breathing heavily before her elbows give way and she lays atop you, her head nestled into your neck, your breasts fitting together with hers. You slide out of her, sheathing again, leaving only splashes of the jade liquid that dries between you into an uncomfortably sticky substance.

"I do not think I can move," Rose sighs, but she comes up to kiss you all the same, sweetly, chastely, quite at odds with the desperate, wild girl who, only minutes before, was moaning your name while making love to you with a passion you've never felt from anyone before.

"I feel much the same," you tell her, caressing her hair, rubbing circles into the bare skin of her back, though you're so drowsy you feel you must fall off the world and sleep awhile. "Are you all right? No pain?"

"None at all," she assure you, rolling on her side and encouraging you to do the same, so your legs are slotted with hers, you feeling the wetness of her release between her legs, she feeling much the same between yours. "On the contrary, that was absolutely fantastic."

"Better than my dreams," you say before you can stop yourself, and she giggles, that little Rose giggle reserved exclusively for you, tinged with tiredness.

"Mine too," she says, and kisses you again before nudging her head into her favorite place at the hollow of your throat, warm and alive, her pulse slowing against your fingers. "Love you," she sighs there.

"Love you too," you respond, and close your eyes.

"Just need to rest for a few minutes," Rose murmurs.

"Just a few minutes," you agree, already feeling yourself slipping.

And Rose falls asleep in your arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I really need to stop writing this self-indulgent fluffy sex bullshit.


End file.
